


if it’s love, it must be more than most

by turtlenecksandsweaters



Series: flowers of emerald [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Boys being sad, I have No Excuse, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Whump, i say major character death but it’s only implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 19:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19215763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtlenecksandsweaters/pseuds/turtlenecksandsweaters
Summary: “It’s a tragedy, the way our story goes; maybe, perhaps, almost.”— if it’s love, it must be more than most | p.dHe looks as though he’d been struck, the expression that crosses Erestor’s face vulnerable. Glorfindel realizes, suddenly, he would have never seen the weakness were the situation any different.





	if it’s love, it must be more than most

It’s the sensation of his own hands pressed against cold flesh that he’s first met with, and before even registering the sky falling (pitter patter _pitter patter_ ) an overwhelming blanket of dread and panic sinks between every ounce of his being.

 

Bitter, achingly unfamiliar eyes stare up at him, hardly blinking but _alive_ and suddenly Glorfindel realizes with his hands at his neck and below his chin his partner has no where else to look but at him. It sends a sick shock down to his core. Even now, Erestor does that satisfactory little half smirk Glorfindel’s only ever seen once or twice, and his confusion sets the figurative light in his eyes into motion, bright red and blinking anxiously.

 

“Aren’t you gonna melt in this weather?”

 

For someone who's dying, Erestor certainly still could find the perfect words to get on Glorfindel’s every single artificial nerve. Glorfindel doesn’t reply, watches the corner of the green eyes below him — pained eyes that he involuntarily memorizes — crease. He follows the water cascading from around his eyes down the sides of his face and wonders if it is just the rain.

 

( _Artificial._ That’s how he had felt since his revival. Even Erestor’s sharp words and feared wit supported the assumption that this body was no longer _his_ —)

 

“Relax. We’re fine,” Erestor says, again, his eyes fleeting for a glance down in front of wherever they are but the presence of those hands around his neck doesn't allow him much room to stargaze. Understanding crosses the black haired elf’s face when he looks back at Glorfindel.

 

(There’s probably a reason for that, he thinks.)

 

“Erestor, I— you’re—“ for once in his entire _goddamn_ existence, Glorfindel of all people is at a loss for words.

 

 _‘I’m sorry you’re dying,’_ his brain decides to finish, but his tongue is tied in knots in his mouth. For surely if there was ever a time the Lord of the Golden Flower would lose his words ( _bite his tongue_ ) it would be now, in another’s last moments.

 

Glorfindel watches Erestor frown, ignoring the back-handed compliment that leaves his mouth about his lap being more comfortable if he weren’t so strung up.

 

Sparing himself, the Golden Lord removes one hand from the councilor’s neck and reaches for his discarded cloak, cursing himself that he only now thinks to cover Erestor with it. The gold emblazoned flower on that familiar field of green suits Erestor.

 

_“I cannot believe you had that made, no longer are we in Gondolin!”_

 

_Glorfindel laughs, closing the last clamp on his armor over the corner of his cloak. It is a familiar feeling, of his banner being worn in the form of clothing — reminding others and himself of who he is and where he has come from, not for the glory but for the threat — it has only ever been that._

 

_Grinning, he leans forward and hovers, hands sneaking their way to Erestor’s hips and closing down, holding the elf in place so Glorfindel can bring their faces closer._

 

 _“If that is your philosophy, why dare wear_ this _around your neck?” It is no more a question than it is a tease, and to accentuate his interest he ghosts his lips down Erestor’s hardly exposed neck, landing with a soft clink on his target he pulls the chain with his teeth just enough to tug on skin, and lets it drop again._

 

_The hiss above him is a good sign, when Erestor turns his chin upwards to give Glorfindel room to explore._

 

_“Old habits die hard,” is the response he receives, it is not one he had never heard before but it leaves an aftertaste of dissatisfaction hot on his tongue. Craving a different taste, he mouths Erestor’s neck — just below his chin, between ear and taught neck._

 

_The hands that had been crossed over black and green fabric uncurl to reach up into golden locks, tugging loosely and incessantly._

 

_Glorfindel smiles into Erestor’s neck, pushes him backwards until they’re pressed against the wall and Erestor is caged under him. He feels the stutter beneath his hands in those hips, watches the anticipating swallow of throat and he prides himself that only he was allowed to decompose the councilor like this._

 

“‘restor?” Is all he gets out, the first syllable cut off by the bob of his throat. The elf below him responds anyway, with such a small and insignificant head tilt it sends snakes down Glorfindel’s throat to constrict his heart.

 

Ignoring the indecipherable mumble below him, the Golden Lord leans farther over Erestor, blanketing his face from the rain and curtaining them with his hair.

 

“Please—” he’s never begged for anything in his life, but Erestor had always brought with him new experiences and this happens to be another, “don’t— don’t leave me, just— stay awake.”

 

He looks as though he’d been struck, the expression that crosses Erestor’s face vulnerable. Glorfindel realizes, suddenly, he would have never seen the weakness were the situation any different.

 

(Except, perhaps, if he were the one limp in Erestor’s lap. The thought both comforts and terrifies him.)

**Author's Note:**

> story title/poetry from tumblr user lostcap!! i fell in love with this poem and couldn’t help myself using it for a little bit of inspiration for this fic. speaking of, its a relatively short one but i love angst and have no excuse for myself ;)
> 
> speaking of, this fic doesn’t really have an end and i may or may not come back to it 🤔 (can you tell it was originally gonna be a d:bh fic? theres hints)
> 
> feedback and comments appreciated! let me know what you think.


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